


That Intolerable Scent

by deathbyspice



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding, Dirty Talk, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Cheating, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, but the hunter sure thinks it is and doesnt care LMAO, gascoigne and viola are getting a divorce, gascoigne has lots of feelings bc hes old like me, implied past gascoigne/henryk, lots of making out, not a/b/o
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29671509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbyspice/pseuds/deathbyspice
Summary: Of all the troubles happening to Gascoigne, the last thing he needed was to go into a beast-like heat around the new hunter.
Relationships: Gascoigne/The Hunter (Bloodborne)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	That Intolerable Scent

**Author's Note:**

> the utter LACK of gascoigne/male!hunter on ao3 OFFENDS me  
> this went from self-indulgent porn to self-indulgent porn with a plot and also feelings bc im a sap  
> there's a little ds3 reference snuck in here as well... as a treat!
> 
> NOTE: i wrote this with the Hunter's default appearance in promotional images in mind, but I made his physical features as vague as possible so anyone can insert their own hunter in place :)
> 
> Songs listened to during writing:
> 
> "Little Monster" by Royal Blood  
> "BITE" by Troye Sivan  
> "Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier  
> "Burning Pile" by Mother Mother

The sound of flesh ripping and bones crunching resonated as the Hunter’s saw cleaver made its final contact into the neck of a scourge beast. The diseased wolf’s movement ceased and the Hunter cringed slightly as he grappled his weapon out and away. He whipped it to the side of himself, allowing the remaining blood from the blade to slap against the cold ground. Not a perfect way to clean a weapon, but good enough for the time being.

“Getting good at that,” a voice complimented.

The Hunter’s gaze flew upward as he caught his breath. Gascoigne had been off to the side, coolly watching the bloodshed take place.

They had teamed up for the past couple of days, or at least, that’s what it felt like. Time in Yharnam seemed to be an enigma, the moon never setting nor the sky changing.

Of his own volition, Gascoigne had offered to teach the new Hunter better and more effective ways of slaughtering the beasts around Yharnam. The original plan had been to simply summon Gascoigne for assistance in taking down the Cleric Beast; but, the veteran had been too appalled at the Hunter’s hectic way of approaching enemies. Oftentimes, the Hunter would not sneak stealthily enough to backstab an enemy to draw less attention. Or, he would take multiple slashes and gunshots that could have been easily avoided. Seeing this, Gascoigne refused to help until the Hunter improved.

“Not a chance you’re taking down the damn Cleric Beast waving your blade like _that_ ,” he had bluntly said. The Hunter’s face had flushed in embarrassment under his black face covering. He wouldn’t consider himself a _terrible_ fighter, but he definitely felt out of his element when it came to the nightmares on the streets of Central Yharnam. He had awoken inside the Hunter’s Dream so many times already, and he hadn’t even left the chief skirts of town. _I’m trying my best_ , the Hunter had sulkily thought to himself.

Gascoigne lifted himself from the stone wall, gripping his equally blood-stained axe as he made his way towards the Hunter. “I suggest we find a place to hold up for now, lest we wish to be fighting beasts all night,” he chuckled, sharp canines exposed. “Wouldn’t mind if we did though.”

The Hunter waved a hand, ignoring the goosebumps forming on his back and arms. “I’ll be on my way then,” he replied, retracting his saw cleaver. “You are returning to your family, I presume? Travel safe.”

Gascoigne grew uncharacteristically silent, standing still while lowly grumbling under his breath.

“Something the matter, Father?”

“We’re too far to my home,” he replied, voice reverberating. “I won’t make it back in time. It would be easier if we just found somewhere to rest.” With that, he began to walk in a random direction through the cobbled-stone streets, leaving the Hunter no other option but to follow him.

They walked briskly in silence until Gascoigne eventually stopped in front of a door. The lantern outside had long been snuffed out, leaving the moon to be the only light source against the entryway’s darkness. He flicked his chin towards the Hunter, motioning him to knock. _Smart_ , the Hunter thought. No good to them if they barged in, whether the house was empty or not. Beasts were very good at making themselves known when noise was concerned, so it would only make sense to cause a small disturbance to get their attention.

_Knock, knock_.

They waited quietly for a response, whether it be from a human or beast. When there was none, the Hunter opened the door slowly, grip tightening on his cleaver handle. The men carefully made their way inside, and after a quick sweep through of the house, it was safe to conclude it was indeed completely abandoned.

“These town houses are all the same,” Gascoigne cleared his throat. He looked around the living area and spotting an abandoned coat rack, tossing his black hat on it. “There should be two bedrooms upstairs. Unless you prefer the living area for rest?” Another low, and for some reason hesitant, chuckle, “Faster access out the door.”

He sure liked to laugh, at least. “Doesn’t matter to me, either way,” the Hunter shrugged, doing the same with his own frayed hunter hat. He ran a hand through his hair, caked with sweat and blood from the day’s work. He’d made a mental note to find the bath soon.

Carefully placing his cleaver and pistol on a side table, he froze suddenly. He realized that Gascoigne was standing quite a distance away from him and his breathing had become heavy. It sounded almost animalistic.

When he first arrived in Yharnam, the Hunter knew the second he had run into Gascoigne near the large fountain that his bloodlust was strong. He had heard from Gehrman how hunters eventually succumb to it, becoming scourge beasts like the one he put down today. Additionally, the way Gascoigne had remarked upon the mere _smell_ of blood and how there were _so many_ beasts to take care of made the Hunter on-edge. Gascoigne’s deep voice always sounded perverse when commenting on such things. Almost orgasmic.

Which was why, right now, the Hunter was concerned that the bloodlust was beginning to take hold in this small, cramped space.

“Father Gascoigne,” his voice was careful, “are you alright?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Gascoigne answered too fast for the Hunter’s liking. “Just… hot…”

Casting aside any worry for himself, the Hunter rushed over to the larger man. Should he die, he would just revive again anyway.

He cursed the old hunter’s seven-foot-tall frame against his own five-foot-eleven, unable to comprehend what he meant by “hot”. Whatever was happening to Gascoigne made him fall to one knee, the wooden floorboards creaking violently against his weight. The Hunter hurriedly removed his gauntlet gloves and pressed his palm to Gascoigne’s forehead.

“You’re burning up,” he gasped _. Did he get injured and not tell me? Is it an infection that’s started to spread? He was staying away from me all day more than usual... was it because he’s sick?_ Thoughts raced through the Hunter’s mind as Gascoigne panted feverishly. The Hunter, per usual, couldn’t make out the man’s true expression because of the gauze over his eyes. He hissed, frustrated, and Gascoigne fell back against the wall.

“Here,” the Hunter signaled. “Let me take off your scarf and coat.”

“Won’t help,” Gascoigne muttered.

“But, your temperature! We have to get it down-”

“It isn’t,” his large chest rose and fell through gasps, the slightest tinge of red gracing his cheeks, “it isn’t _that_ kind of hot.”

The Hunter shook his head, confused, and irritated. He was tired after today and wanted to rest but knew he wouldn’t be able to if his accomplice was hurting or ill. Gascoigne’s body had begun to relax, his arms limp as if all the energy had been drained from him. He was able to lift a knee towards his chest, as if covering himself.

The Hunter ignored his claims of futility and leaned forward, pushing his leg to the side. It was an awkward position, to be sure; the Hunter between Gascoigne’s legs, his arms wrapped around him as if he were hugging him by the neck. He did his best to pull the older man close to him so he could see where his scarf’s tied knot was. His smaller body pressed against Gascoigne as he worked to untie his light-grey scarf from the back. He could feel the old hunter’s hot breath against his neck and shoulder, trying his best not to externally shudder at the contact.

The Hunter finally tossed his scarf to the side and began to pry himself away when he was suddenly grabbed by his own coat collar. It was a firm grip, not enough to hurt him, but enough to keep him in place. Gascoigne pulled him forcefully, their faces inches away from each other. The Hunter could now feel that heated breath against his face covering.

“Father…?”

“If you undo one more piece of clothing on me,” Gascoigne rumbled, “I will not hold myself back.”

The Hunter stared at the dirty, scuffed bandages where Gascoigne’s eyes would have been. He studied the man’s mouth, lips parted and wet from where he must have glazed his tongue over at some point. His teeth were gleaming and the sharp canines he saw earlier that day made him involuntarily swallow.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured. The Hunter went to move his thigh, accidentally brushing over the other man’s crotch, causing a drawn-out hiss from him. He froze when he realized that there was a noticeable bulging from where his leg made contact. With the realization settling in, the Hunter felt his face and neck quickly flare up.

\--

_“The “Heat”?”_

_“Yes,” Gilbert rasped out. “Much like animals, beasts are no different. They have their own…_ needs _that must be satisfied. You must be careful, be extra aware of your surroundings. Their speed enhances and they can pin you-” He began to violently cough before continuing._

_“Those who have been unfortunate to encounter a beast during their heated phase usually do not make it out alive,” the Hunter could hear the grimace in Gilbert’s voice. “You know, due to the enormous size difference, and all. Organs getting punctured, bleeding internally, resulting in a slow, agonizing death… a horrible, humiliating way to go.”_

_“Is it akin to… a mating cycle?” the Hunter asked. “If so, I can simply leave here and return when it ends.”_

_Gilbert swallowed, coating his dry throat, “Regrettably, it seems to be at random. But, you never know, so I suggest always being alert. I’m afraid I have no further material on the subject.”_

_“Thank you for the information,” the Hunter softly smiled, tapping lightly at Gilbert’s window with his index finger twice. It was a small action to let the poor man know the Hunter was physically there and not a sickly hallucination._

_“Wait,” Gilbert weakly said, soft shuffling behind the glass pane emanating. “I forgot I must also tell you… should you come across any hunters, be extremely perceptive of them.”_

_“Why?”_

_“It makes no sense to me but… the Heat can also affect hunters who are losing themselves. I know there are a few out there, so please,” Gilbert’s tone had bordered on begging, piercing the Hunter’s heart. He had been the only friendly constant in this hellish town, and his willingness to always talk to the Hunter gave him a peace of mind. Upsetting Gilbert would be devastating to the Hunter, losing him, even worse._

_“Please,” Gilbert managed through his scratched-up throat, “promise to stay safe.”_

_Although they couldn’t see each other’s faces, the Hunter instinctively nodded. He placed his hand against Gilbert’s barred window, “I will.”_

\--

The Hunter gritted his teeth, cursing himself for breaking that promise to Gilbert. Their conversation from earlier that day had been buried in the back of his mind in favor of focusing on his training with Gascoigne.

Now here he was, pinned to the dirty floorboards of some dirty, empty home, by Gascoigne. Helpless.

“You,” Gascoigne gasped out, voice sounding more visceral, “need to get out of here.” He grit his teeth as he forcefully pulled himself away from the Hunter, falling back again against the wall. Silver hair strands fell over his face and some stuck when they got caught in saliva falling from his open mouth.

“You,” the Hunter sat up, “you’ve been affected by the Heat, haven’t you?”

Gascoigne didn’t respond, instead clutching at his vest. The veins in his hands were protruding, emphasizing his attempts for the brutal phase to end. “How long? Were you going to tell me that this-?”

“I said to _leave_ , Hunter!” Gascoigne warned. “Get out of my sight and leave me be. This will pass, as it always does.” He shifted his body to where he leaned forward, hiding his face, and hugging one knee against himself. “Didn’t… think this would happen again so damn soon…”

The Hunter didn’t know what to do. He sat still as Gascoigne panted heavily, like a wounded animal. The sight would have been pathetic to most onlookers: a large, intimidating man coiled up, falling prey to his own sexual urges. Except these urges were dialed up to three thousand.

“I thought maybe I could, _hah_ … control this…”

But to the Hunter… the sight of such a vulnerable, experienced man made his chest and stomach burn.

Calmly, he moved toward Gascoigne on his knees. He gripped the sides of Gascoigne’s head, the older man flinching in response. Without warning, the Hunter used all his strength to shove the other man backward, restraining him against the wall’s crumbling plaster. Straddling his hips, he felt their groins press together, earning a surprised groan from them both.

“Don’t underestimate me, Father,” the Hunter whispered against Gascoigne’s bandaged eyes. “You’ve been assisting me for many, many hours now. It’s only fair I… return the favor, isn’t it?”

Gascoigne had gone completely still, as if his brain was trying to process what was happening. The Hunter pulled down his face covering, sighing as he felt the cold air hit his face.

_He’s married, you damn idiot,_ the Hunter ignored his brain’s scolding, _and he has children! Two little girls!_

“I will aid your predicament, if you will have me,” he continued. “You know I am no longer an ordinary human and can endure harsher things _others_ cannot. I believe I can be of much better relief don’t you think?”

By “others” he, of course, meant the missus.

“I-” Gascoigne snarled.

The Hunter now understood why Gascoigne refused to go back home. The Heat had already taken affect at that time; and if what Gilbert said was correct, going back to a human family in this state would have surely meant the unthinkable. The Hunter had listened to how fondly the single time Gascoigne spoke of his wife and daughters during their time together, and any harm to them would have surely broken him.

The Hunter did genuinely care, obviously, for Gascoigne. Besides Gilbert, he was one of the only other Hunters around town willing to help him. Hell, the man even offered to teach him the ways of properly slaughtering prey.

He felt his mind become hazy as he thought back to the pure frenzy in Gascoigne’s voice that would bleed through when the stench of beast blood flooded the air. Leaving one hand fingering the side of Gascoigne’s hair and traveling the other down just above his groin, the Hunter felt all shame leave him. The desire to be fucked overtook his senses, the sexual tension between them reaching its peak.

“Go on, have your way with me,” his lips pressed to Gascoigne’s flushed ear. It was all that was needed to snap the last bit of self-control Gascoigne had in half.

The Hunter felt his back hit the floor once again, their hot mouths pressing together. A clash of teeth and tongue filled the Hunter’s mouth, blood rushing to his crotch from the forceful contact. Gascoigne’s tongue was large, and he was beginning to drool uncontrollably, globs of spit beginning to drip out of the corners of their mouths. The Hunter felt like he was drowning as they attacked each other’s entrances. Their kissing was desperate, feral, and messy, just how intimacy with a beast in heat would be like.

The weight of Gascoigne’s large frame on top of him made him feel as if his entire body was being consumed. Gascoigne pulled away to catch his breath, heavily panting against the Hunter as he rutted their hardening, still-clothed members together. He needed release badly, and the Hunter saw this, frantically undoing Gascoigne’s belt and pulling him out.

“Hah… sit,” the Hunter propped himself back up so Gascoigne was sitting on the floor, legs spread. He swallowed when he got a good look at the sheer size of what he would be taking on tonight. Gascoigne, like the rest of him, was _large_. Both in regard to length and girth. The tip of his cock was already oozing precum, the head a painful shade of red as it twitched.

The Hunter moved onto his knees as he grabbed Gascoigne, earning him a low, satisfied growl. The organ was hot to the touch, and the Hunter felt his own mouth water.

It wasn’t as if it was the Hunter’s first male sexual encounter. What of Gascoigne, however? Had he ever been with a man before settling down? Any previous hunting partners, perhaps? He didn’t seem to be disgusted or put off by the Hunter’s offer, so it was possible.

The Hunter went to work stroking, eyeing Gascoigne’s face. The sound of his fingernails clawed at the wooden floor as the Hunter allowed a pool of saliva to fall achingly slow on his cock. It helped slick up the member and Gascoigne’s breath fell.

“I don’t know how long this heat lasts, but,” the Hunter leaned forward, licking his lips, “cum as much as you like. Until you’re tired and worn, I can take all of you.”

With that, he wrapped his mouth around Gascoigne’s cock fully. The older man jolted in surprise, the feeling of a hot, wet mouth engulfing him catching him off guard. A lewd moan left his throat, one that clashed against his gruff appearance, and the Hunter hummed in satisfaction.

_Gods_ , The Hunter thought, _I’ve never held something so hard…_

He lapped at Gascoigne, tasting the mixture of his own saliva and precum. His eyelids fluttered as he began to suck, and he felt a large hand grip the back of his head. He did his best to angle his head upward, finding Gascoigne was watching him through those familiar bandages.

The Hunter felt his cheeks redden at the sight. Gascoigne’s mouth was open, drool decorating the corners of his mouth and beard; the faintest hint of a blush splotched his face from his ears to across his nose. His chest rose and fell, the Hunter being able to see clouds of those shaky hot breaths in the cold air. It was surely a _sight_ if the Hunter had ever seen one.

Gascoigne threw his head back, choking out a gasp as the Hunter took him in his mouth more deeply. His reaction encouraged the other man to go further, making filthy, muddled sounds as his head bobbed up and down. The slurping noises the Hunter made were as lecherous as a town whore’s and he sure felt like one rather than a refined hunter.

_I want it all_ , the Hunter thought, eyes beginning to glaze over. _Ah, I want to… choke on him…!_

He got his wish quicker than anticipated; the head of Gascoigne’s cock hit the Hunter in the back of the throat, his eyes widening in surprise. He tried to pull away, but he felt Gascoigne grab the sides of his head, pushing him further onto his cock. The Hunter’s voice was eclipsed as his mouth began to get brutally fucked. Gascoigne pulled the man’s hair as he rocked in and out, as if the Hunter was a toy made for nothing but pleasure. The only oxygen he could intake was through his nostrils, but even that was short-lived as his nose buried into Gascoigne’s pelvic bone.

“Mmmph!”

“Ah, _haah_ -!” without warning, Gascoigne came hard, refusing to let go. The Hunter felt large gushes of cum flood his mouth, leaving him no choice but to swallow it all. His hands found Gascoigne’s muscular thighs, squeezing them with each spurt that shot across his tongue and down his esophagus. Only when he began to gag and sputter on Gascoigne’s cock was he released, the remaining cum spilling from his mouth and staining the front of his coat. The Hunter felt dizzy, the asphyxiation making him see blots of black in his eyes and causing the room to spin. His lungs greedily inhaled large consumptions of oxygen to rewire him back into full consciousness.

He wasn’t given any time to spare, however.

Gascoigne was already frantically tearing at the hunter’s belt and pants, pulling them down only to realize they were caught on the Hunter’s boots.

“W-wait a minute,” the Hunter motioned, “let me.” He went to unlace the obstacles as Gascoigne leaned into the Hunter, nearly toppling the smaller man over. Guttural growls filled the Hunter’s ears as he felt Gascoigne inhale the nape of his neck.

“Watching you slaughter those beasts today,” he sighed, licking his lips, “was the most _erotic_ thing I’ve seen. I could smell it on you, the arousal you got from the bloodshed. Drove me crazy, it did.” He lapped at the Hunter’s neck like a dog through his moans, finally hearing the clack of heavy boots and pants tossed and kicked aside.

“The most erotic thing you’ve seen, eh?” The Hunter repeated, leaning back, allowing more access to his neck.

Gascoigne sat upright, cock still shamelessly hard and ready. He laced his arms under the Hunter’s knees, hugging him to his chest and exposing all of him. He could see _everything_ , from the Hunter’s twitching hole to his own achingly throbbing cock. The Hunter felt himself turn beet red from his head to his chest, his hands reaching up defensively to cover his face. “Th-this pose… what are you-?”

The Hunter nearly screamed when he felt that large tongue lap hungrily at the rim of his ass. He felt his legs spasm in Gascoigne’s hands, his senses overwhelmed as he was being eaten out like it was the old hunter’s job.

“Oh- oh, _fuck_ ,” the Hunter gracelessly swore as he watched Gascoigne sloppily trace his tongue over him. He felt like he was going to die hearing the squelches and noises coming from a combination of Gascoigne’s mouth and how much he was literally drooling over his ass. The Hunter threw his head back, eyes rolling into the back of his head. No man or woman had ever gone down on him in such a manner before, and he grew worried he would become addicted to such a lascivious act. He whimpered as Gascoigne tongued the inside of his entrance, unable to comprehend just how _good_ it felt.

“This is, _hah_ ,” he whined in a high-pitch, voice sounding more pathetic than he would have liked, “so amazing… Gascoigne…! _Aah_ , it’s like I’m being eaten alive…” He felt the other man chuckle against him as he continued to work. The Hunter swallowed and gave into his ecstasy, legs shaking and fists trying fruitlessly to steady himself on the floor. His hips began to involuntarily grind into Gascoigne’s face, the man’s tongue pushing deeper inside. He didn’t mind being manhandled, especially since it made his cock leak so much against his lower abdomen.

Gascoigne pulled away with a heavy sigh, hot bouts of breath warming the Hunter’s skin. The house was terribly cold when they entered, yet their combined heat was more than sufficient in keeping their body temperature rising. The Hunter’s hole felt uncomfortably wet, with his prepped insides leaking Gascoigne’s spit. He winced when he felt some of the fluid trace down his thighs and drip onto the floor.

“Can’t take it,” Gascoigne was beginning to slur, his Yharnam accent slipping over into his native Irish, “Gonna ruin you, Hunter. _Aah… hahaha_ … you’ll be my best hunt yet, eh?”

The Hunter shuddered and moaned noisily at that. The implication of him being Gascoigne’s vulnerable prey to satiate his predator-level hunger made him cum over his belly. Short spurts decorated his chest and chin only to be quickly lapped up by Gascoigne.

“Augh! So filthy,” the Hunter shook, all decency out the door. “ _Fuck_ , I love it-!”

Gascoigne pushed the Hunter’s legs up to his shoulders ( _Flexible_ , he thought with a grin) as he licked over his canines. He easily slid his throbbing cock into the Hunter, the latter releasing a silent scream.

_Shit, shit, shit,_ the Hunter thought, feeling impeccably full. _So huge…! Is he… all the way in… already?!_

Gascoigne was not kind as he began thrusting wildly. The tight, hot walls of the Hunter fixed around him as his paced quickened. Gascoigne’s relieved sighs brought warmth to the Hunter’s chest, as if he was all Gascoigne ever wanted.

“So hard,” the Hunter drew out a moan. “Pent up- _hah_ \- I assume?” Gascoigne grit his teeth, grabbing the Hunter’s wrists and slamming them to the floor. Sounds of skin slapping against skin filled their ears, the slovenly sounds overwhelming his senses. Their fucking was anything but sweet and romantic, instead purely animalistic, and lustful.

The Hunter inhaled Gascoigne’s beastly scent, a smell he had become familiar with over their temporary partnership. Gilbert had once described a hunter’s smell like a dirty, wet dog, mixed with the unbearable stench of stale blood. However, it didn’t smell as such at all. To the Hunter, it was musky and mature, like a glass of sweet bourbon whiskey with the faintest hint of copper. Perhaps such an odor smelled differently to hunters and regular humans. Whatever the reason, the Hunter wanted to submerge himself in it.

He felt his mouth hang open as the bulbous head of the giant cock striking into him grinded against his prostate. He released a shrill cry and bit his lip, Gascoigne laughing above him.

“Y’ve got a big mouth, don’t’cha?” he asked, incoherent. “Seems like I found the spot that shuts you up.” Angling himself, he slammed into the Hunter relentlessly, hitting that sensitive gland without mercy. The Hunter gasped, tongue lolling out of his mouth and eyes rolled back. The stains of reds and pinks across his face made Gascoigne sweat, his cock twitching inside.

“Wan’… I want…” the Hunter exhaled, words garbling in between breaths.

“What do you want, _a pheata_?”

“ _Ahh_ -!”

The Hunter would have debated his next choice of words were he in a clearer state of mind. It was too bad that at this point he was so fucked out and was willing to degrade himself all for the sake of Gascoigne getting off into him.

“I want you to breed me like a beast,” he confessed, wanting so badly to cover his face. Gascoigne’s grip on his wrists, however, kept him restrained. It tightened when this plead reached Gascoigne’s ears, the Hunter fearing his bones would snap from the strength.

Instead, Gascoigne managed to replace his huge hands from the Hunter’s wrists down to his hips. He hugged him close, almost intimately, and began thrusting harder and faster. The Hunter saw stars as he felt his prostate being abused relentlessly, moans and gasps escaping his mouth as if they were his last.

“Yes, yes, by the damned gods above, _yes_!” the Hunter blasphemed. “Use me all you want, _hah_ , mark me even! I’m all yours-!”

Gascoigne loudly growled and bit into the Hunter’s shoulder, sharp teeth piercing the skin. The Hunter cried out in a coalescence of pain and pleasure, shocked at the sudden action. Gascoigne’s teeth clamped down harder and he lapped at the blood beginning to seep out, all the while fucking the Hunter into the floorboards. He could practically feel the bruise from the bite forming as Gascoigne tackled his neck. His teeth grazed dangerously close to the Hunter’s carotid artery, and the latter shuddered at the riskiness of his position. One visceral bite down from the erratic man and he’d be dead, essentially fucked to death.

_Oh_ , _my dear Gilbert, forgive me,_ the Hunter thought, _but it sounds like such a blissful way to expire!_

Gascoigne nipped and sucked at the Hunter’s jaw, moving to his mouth, and engaging in another passionate kiss. The Hunter felt deep snarls reverberate inside his own throat from the other man, separating and gasping when he felt the engorged cock get bigger.

“Want to be bred, eh?” Gascoigne asked, voice husky and deep. “I hope you know that, _nngh_ , once just won’t be enough for me.”

The Hunter’s eyes, filled with lust, seductively stared back at the bandages on Gascoigne’s face. “ _Good_.”

Gascoigne chuckled as he pulled out his hardened member, all the way to the tip. The Hunter made a confused noise but was immediately replaced with hard exhale as Gascoigne slammed unapologetically in. He felt as if he had just been punched in the gut, all air escaping him as Gascoigne repeated the movements. His hole felt so stretched out, growing accustomed to Gascoigne’s size as he felt his walls clamp down on that large cock. The precum alone was already beginning to generously coat his insides.

“Going to…” Gascoigne rasped out.

“ _Yes_ , _yes, please_ -!” the Hunter groaned as he was practically folded in half. Gascoigne had him in a mating press, appropriate for his burning beast-like desires.

The Hunter’s arms wrapped around Gascoigne’s neck as he screamed into the man’s neck. He felt his insides be filled with hot, thick ropes of cum as they shot into his deepest parts. He clenched around the pulsating cock, Gascoigne practically howling into the Hunter’s bloody shoulder as he emptied himself inside him. The Hunter felt his second orgasm hit like brick, his cock releasing its own ropes of cum across his belly and chest. His lower body twitched as he felt load after load spill into him, shuddering as gushes of cum began to leak out despite Gascoigne not leaving him.

The Hunter groaned, chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath at what seemed like an endless state of ecstasy. It was quiet in the house now, all with the exception of the men’s breathing. The Hunter had no longer felt the coldness of the Yharnam air; instead, Gascoigne’s large body enveloped him in a comforting warmth he never wanted to separate from. His shaky fingers managed to clench together, gripping Gascoigne’s coat and squeezing him tightly right as the man was about to pull out. He wrapped his legs as best as he could around the other man’s hips.

“Don’t,” the Hunter whispered, cheeks beginning to flush. “It’s… so warm.”

Gascoigne’s mouth formed into a flat line, grunting in response. The Hunter sighed and smiled in amusement when he saw Gascoigne’s ears redden.

\--

No sooner had they recovered from their first session, the Hunter was subjected to getting himself railed many more times that he lost count.

_Well… he_ did _say he could handle it and he did_ , Gascoigne thought. The Heat had finally subsided, and by the end the Hunter was worryingly incoherent. He was practically a ragdoll, only mumbling in responses to Gascoigne’s inquiries. Until the very end, the Hunter was very active and engaged, as if he were the one affected by the Heat. He was sure they had fucked in about every possible position, though the Hunter seemed to enjoy being pressed into the floor the most.

Gascoigne had done more than was probably necessary afterward; he had picked up the Hunter (much lighter than he initially thought), found the bath down the hallway, and cleaned him himself. The Hunter was asleep at that point, but Gascoigne, despite his crumbling mental state by the hour, felt the parental need to at least wash him over. When he had found one of the abandoned rooms upstairs, he lay the Hunter in one of the unmade beds and pulled up a chair, sitting beside the bed.

He had wondered if this was a bad decision; Gascoigne had wanted to keep an eye on the new hunter, which was why he had suggested they both hole up together to rest. He had it all planned out: they’d stay in their separated rooms and he would suffer quietly for the night until it passed. When the Heat had hit him the last three times, he was able to wait it out on his own, despite the unbearable discomfort it brought.

He would never return home when he felt it coming on, not thinking once of subjecting his family to such a sight. The music box was enough to bring him back to reality, and it was all Viola did to comfort him when he felt his sanity slipping. But, their intimacy had been nonexistent since he began staying out on hunts longer (a good _year_ ) and it was testing their relationship to the breaking point.

_“I will always love you, Gascoigne,”_ she had said, arms crossed and eyes agonizingly sad, _“but the loneliness, the worry, this endless hunt… I can’t do this any longer.”_

He didn’t resent her for saying that. If anything, he respected her even more as both his wife and a human being. He had strongly desired a sense of normalcy in his life as a hunter, despite Henryk and Eileen’s protests that it only ends in tragedy. Even if it was only for a short time, he was glad it happened and was blessed enough to create a family to call his own.

Viola was always the smarter one between them. She constantly thought of what was best for the entire family, and he never once questioned her.

That’s why when she had told him she would be taking the girls on a trip to stay with her parents for a while, he knew the domestic family life they had built had come to an abrupt end.

He pinched the bridge of nose, fingertips feeling the rough gauze.

\--

_Of course Gascoigne was upset at Viola’s announcement to separate. He was feeling physically and emotionally unfulfilled as well annoyed at his old hunting comrades being right about the outcome. So what if he had been channeling his emotions into the hunt, overkilling beasts, and corrupted villagers into unrecognizable pulps of bloody, pink flesh? He had needed a distraction, anything, anyone, so his hazy, bloodlust-filled brain wouldn’t remind him of his crumpling family._

_It was after he had taken down a brick troll in front of his home that he heard soft footsteps sound behind him. The scent of a foreigner made his senses go wild._

_“Well, well,” Gascoigne had piqued up, curiosity in his voice, “a hunter, is it?”_

_“Are you,” the smaller man began, “a hunter as well?”_

_Gascoigne stood up, his intimidating figure towering over the Hunter as he violently ripped his axe blade from the monster’s chest cavity. Turning to him, he observed the Hunter’s appearance through his bandaged eyes._

_He wore the traditional hunter garb, without any flare of his own personality decorated into it like Henryk had with his own. His eyes were young, big, holding onto a shred of innocence and purity which Yharnam was sure to rip away soon. He smelled like a new babe, the aroma he knew to be of someone who had just woken up from the Hunter’s Dream._

_How Gascoigne wanted to_ defile _that smell._

_“Yes,” he answered, ignoring his rising bloodlust. It had been getting worse lately, and he could only imagine how his pupils looked now._

_“Oh, good! What a relief,” the Hunter put a palm to his chest, body language relaxing. “Um, I was wondering if it isn’t too much trouble, er… would you be willing to help me with something?”_

_“Depends on what that something is,” Gascoigne said and stopped. “… I see your cleaver is clean?”_

_The Hunter blinked and looked down at his weapon. A flush crept up to what Gascoigne could see of his face and he began to fluster._

_Cute._

_“Erm,” the Hunter hesitated. “I ran all the way here. Ran past everything in town… I mean.”_

Very _cute._

_“What, scared after dying one too many times?” Gascoigne chuckled. It was common for new hunters to get sick of trying to kill those that overpowered them, resulting in them running away. Like Djura, Henryk, and Eileen, he no longer dreamed, but he smiled fondly remembering the Doll. “I don’t see why? She’s a bit eerie, that one, but the Doll isn’t that bad to be around.”_

_“I-!” the Hunter began to protest, face absolutely red. “I’m just getting used to everything here! P-please don’t laugh, sir...”_

_But Gascoigne laughed harder._

\--

Gascoigne silently gazed at the Hunter’s sleeping face. The moonlight coming through the window had given his face an ethereal glow across his young features. He was quite handsome, Gascoigne observed, and wondered exactly what country he may have originated from. It was of no matter, but he couldn’t help but feel so curious. He hadn’t felt like this about another hunter since Henryk.

In fact thinking about it, this was his first time with another man since his hunting partner. He had remained faithful to Viola all these years and now that she was out of the picture, he hadn’t any desire to have relations with anyone.

However, with _this_ hunter…

Sure, he had spoken to him about his family and intentionally left out the part about his and Viola’s divorce. That was a matter unworthy of bothering a new hunter about. Perhaps he should have, considering what they had done. But he would be lying to himself if he tried to rationalize what had occurred between them as a simple resolution to his heat. While he _had_ been pent up for a while, and when the Hunter willingly offered himself-

_-when the Hunter took control for a brief moment by forcefully pinning Gascoigne against the wall-_

-Gascoigne had no other desire than one for him. Releasing himself in the Hunter felt incomprehensibly amazing, euphoric even, since he was unable to execute such desires the past few times it happened. It made him wonder what sex with the Hunter would be like were he not in his uncontrollable, heated state.

Gascoigne paused.

Was he just thinking of pursuing this man in the future?

He placed a hand over his mouth as he leaned forward in his chair. How childish, how foolish. He knew he didn’t have much time left. He could feel it, day by day. Perhaps it _was_ best that Viola chose now to leave with the girls.

He stared at the Hunter again. His soft expression and calm breathing brought a longing tightness to Gascoigne’s chest. He inhaled deeply and stood up, walking over to the Hunter’s bedside. Slowly, he raised a hand and stroked the Hunter’s temple, trying to be as gentle as he could.

The Hunter sighed, his deep sleep preventing all knowledge of Gascoigne’s touch.

\--

At some point, the Hunter had woken up, but not in the Hunter’s Dream. At first, he felt a panic in his head, unsure of his surroundings for a brief second. As he sat in the bed, he touched his shoulder and winced slightly as he observed it. There was, quite a large, bitemark which had bruised over in shades of purple and yellow. His thoughts traced back to what had happened between him and Gascoigne and he felt his entire body grow hot in embarrassment.

Surprisingly, he didn’t feel as sore below as he thought he would. That blood transfusion at Iosefka’s sure was something, wasn’t it, to enhance _everything_. The Hunter looked down at himself and realized he was in a loose, simple dress shirt and his pants, the rest of his garb set aside on a dresser.

Did he do that?

No, surely not, he could barely remember what had happened once their escapades were over. The Hunter also felt as if he had been cleaned, his hair missing the remnants of filth from the last hunting session.

Did Gascoigne-?

The Hunter shook that head out of his head immediately. No, why would he? Such wishful thinking, stupid at that. Had the Hunter been craving a romantic touch for that long he had secretly hoped Gascoigne would provide it?

“Silly,” he muttered as he lifted himself out of bed.

After getting dressed and making sure he had everything on his person, he headed downstairs. Gascoigne was performing maintenance on his pistol at what was once a family dining table. The Hunter had clumsily staggered a bit in his step when they acknowledged each other’s presence.

“Morning,” the Hunter blurted too quickly.

“Is it?” Gascoigne chuckled in that wonderfully velvety voice of his.

_Goddamn it._

The Hunter scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as Gascoigne finished up. They wordlessly began equipping their weapons and finally left their temporary residence. The streets were surprisingly quiet, with the usual fire crackling around town being their only ambience.

“Erm,” the Hunter mumbled, “how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Gascoigne answered with a smug smirk, “all thanks to you.”

The Hunter coughed, pulling his mask over his nose. Gascoigne nearly raised a hand to stop him from doing so, already missing seeing the Hunter’s face. “W-well, good then,” the Hunter said. “Let’s get going.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

The Hunter turned and saw Gascoigne holding out his hunter’s hat. He reflexively caressed the top of his head, realizing he had completely forgotten it off the coat rack by the front door. He had been in such a hurry to leave the house where he committed such adultery that he spaced. “Oh,” he said, “thank you, Fa-”

As he reached for his hat, Gascoigne held it up from him, just out of reach. The Hunter blinked; confusion was written all over his face. “Wh- huh? Um…” He went to grab it again, but Gascoigne only lifted it higher, face completely unreadable.

Okay, what the hell.

The Hunter was about to exclaim some sort of retaliation but was stopped when his hat was shoved into his hands and against his chest. He was almost knocked back by the force and his eyes went from his hat to Gascoigne.

“What-?!” he was stopped when Gascoigne’s palm landed on top of the Hunter’s head. He began to pet him, feeling rough, gloved hands slide through his strands, gentle and genuinely caring. The Hunter blinked a few times, processing what was happening. Suddenly, Gascoigne ruffled his hair, mussing it up as if he were a small child. The Hunter felt strands stick up from their previously neat state.

“You look charming enough without it,” Gascoigne snickered, toothy smile gracing his face. “Let’s go take care of that Cleric Beast, shall we?” He turned and began to make his way back into the open streets of Central Yharnam.

The Hunter stood there, dumbfounded at what had just happened and what he had heard. He swallowed a lump in his throat and put his hat back on tightly. Following Gascoigne, the Hunter bit his lip beneath his mask as he did his best to conceal his face on fire.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. "a pheata" - Irish term of endearment meaning, "my pet".
> 
> my notp is pretty obvious in here, but i hope i wrote viola realistically within the context of the world. i thought it would be nice to try out a different interpretation of her where she gets understandably exhausted of the hunting lifestyle gascoigne leads. it's my headcanon that it would be pretty common for the married-with-children life to not to work out for many hunters because of the job's demands which is why they live mostly alone. but i really like the thought of gascoigne trying to break that cycle only for it to still fail in the end in per soulsborne misery fashion (also viola and the girls leaving town means they get to live in the end sooooo lol)
> 
> anyway, thank you very much for reading my first bloodborne fic! i love the game a lot and i hope to write more in the future :") please stay safe and kudos/comments are encouraged and appreciated! xoxo


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